Manic Lullaby
by Tris PhantomEvans
Summary: Eerie silence and the darkness of the looming Abyss hovering above the ruins of Sablier are all Elliot could hear and see, alone in this twisted wreckage with for only company blood, uncanny giggles and the gleam of a crimson scythe. Rated M because of gore.


**Tris PhantomEvans here and quite in a happy mood too! I think today is the perfect day to post such a fiction up the net, being the famous unluky day of the year, so voilà! Fair warning though, there is LOADS lf gore in here, a result of unleashing only a fraction of my own madness so beware for those of the faint hearts!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Pandora Hearts. Only this freaky plot where B-Rabbit's powers could drive anyone insane. Literally.**

**Enjoy!**

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Elliot stares at where Leo was a few seconds ago.

He knows he _knows_ that his valet was with him only moments preceding his vanishing, discussing matters of whether more Baskervilles had joined those already present or not and running alongside Elliot in their escape from said clan's clutches. He _heard_ Leo speaking, _saw_ his figure next to him from the corner of his eye and _felt_ his panting breaths as the raven-headed boy took shallow inhales to steady his protesting lungs. So he must be somewhere!

Yeah, that's it. Leo must have gotten himself lost, the idiot. Or so Elliot thought, not wanting to venture himself in more darker prospects and possibilities that could answer to the silver-haired's unspoken query. Like a scenario where Leo who have gotten himself caught in the mirages alleged by the Abyss' power, for example.

Among all these rock-strewn wreckages and chasm, Elliot suddenly feels very lonely, walking along all the remote rundown canyons in the eerie silence, with his hands latched on the black hilt of his sword. Like a lonesome western cowboy, marching toward the twelfth hour of the night, the midnight showdown in the ruins of a ghost town that could either claim his or his nemesis' soul, dragging one or the other down in the deepest pits of Hell, the Abyss.

Sometimes, Elliot would think he heard disturbance further away from him, like the rumbling of an earthquake quickly dawning over everything, afore bringing itself to a standstill, before resuming its earthbound deep chuckles. These odd phenomenon would send incontrollable shudders down his spine and send his heart on a frantic leap, thrumming with illicit feelings that he can't quite describe but is sure that his inner turmoil is close to a meddle of a pulsing fear and exalting thrill. For what, he can't say.

Many times he called at the silent emptiness of the air, trying to trace Leo, even going to the extents of shouting for that stupid Shorty's name, Oz. He knows that the younger might come out of his hidey-hole, more than probably very pleased at being called by that dreadful name of his. But for most of the part, Elliot is trying as hard as he can to break this screaming hush into shards, hating it with all his being for letting him with nobody to resent at but himself. Doing as best as he can to suppress the growing fear crawling from his chest to every brim of his body, this unearthly desire uncommon to him to just want to curl up into a ball and make himself as small as possible.

Another upheaval from the shattered ground beneath him, another uninvited heart attack from himself. Elliot grits his teeth and takes a few more steps, more sluggish and slower than before. He's getting closer to the earthquake's origin. The almost yearning terror squirms some more within him and he stops, utterly paralyzed, realizing that these feelings aren't his real emotions or more like they are enhanced by something. Something peculiar and lurking in the shadows. Where do these feelings come from? It's unnatural, it's supernatural and it's slowly taking his mind away. Where to, Elliot does not want to know or go.

Before the thought finishes processing in his head though, an uncanny growl behind Elliot makes the boy sweep his unsheathed sword behind himself in a clean swipe, the sickening squelch of flesh meeting sharp blade ringing in his ears like a thousand calamitous voices, even though only a single shriek breaks the muffled silence. Blood springs in the air as though pretending to mimic a fountain while two 'thuds!' echo around the bottomless ravine, a disembodied corpse and its decapitated head tumbling on the ground before hitting it with the fatality of death.

For a moment of confused shock, Elliot could only stare at the nightmarish beheaded creature lying before him, its distorted body and multiple mutated eyeballs wriggling frantically all around the bloody ground and orbits as they give in one last movement in the desperate hope of somehow regaining its lost head. Mentioned body part manages to gently roll on the floor to loll against Elliot's foot, brutally awakening the boy from his troubled haze.

Letting out a noise of revulsion, he immediately kicks the head away from him and withdraws as far as possible from the twisted monster, a disgusted scowl painting his expression. Foolish people. How could they possibly think there would be any kind of illumination, miracle or anything they believed would be down this crevice? Have they no desire to live? The second question is easier to answer, the fact being that many of the people living among the ruins of Sablier would do just about anything to get themselves out of their hellish miseries, even if it means putting out the flame of their lives.

The Nightray shakes his head indignantly, picking up from where he left off and pacing faster, his eyes alert to any sudden movement. It's just like that Vessalius brat, thinking that with his untimely death, nobody would be mourning for him and that on the contrary, everyone and everything would move on and forward without merely a glance at his existence and go for the better. Damn moron. Did he know just how much it irritated Elliot just to think those words? Did he know that Elliot thought of him cleverer than that, smarter than what those words pouring out of the blond's mouth are? Even as a Nightray rival to the Vessalius, he hates hearing such things from anybody.

A snarl, that same exact one from earlier before stops Elliot right on his tracks, both physically and mentally. He plunges without mercy or merely a glance behind him his sword and feels oddly excited as the monster, all twisted members and misplaced skin, falls once more on the ground, seemingly provoking a louder clatter than before, its head barely attached to its body and still fountaining blood from its bare inner flesh. Except when Elliot pulls the blade out, ready to feel yet again the sensation of the slick red fluid splatter on his features, he feels air on both his face and weapon.

"_Elliot ~! That was _my_ prey!"_ sings-song the giggling voice of the boy that had stuck on his mind barely a few moments ago.

Elliot spins around himself, black cloak swerving to the motion and he meets a pair of eerily intense green eyes staring back at him. They are wide, big, and so full of childish innocence and – though Elliot would rather die than admit it to himself – incredibly cute. Only, at the present moment, nothing is innocent anymore in those lovely emerald eyes.

The curved blade of a large crimson scythe is deeply plunged into the abdomen of the monstrosity facing both boys, Oz standing next to it and bloody cape swaying to the hollering wind and appearing as though the mutant next to him is nothing more than a plushed toy being shredded through, Vincent style. Oz swings the weapon over his back and the thing trails after it, flying in the air as though a morbid bird and landing at the blond's feet, a mere slave to the Vessalius' psychosis.

Oz suddenly grabs the staff of his scythe more tightly and stabs the blade on the thing, the metal acting as a guillotine as it slices through once more the monster's head into separating itself from its original body, bone peeking through the blood-sputtering throat. Again and again, the smaller hurls the jagged end of his scythe on the monster, piercing through meat until nobody can tell anymore where is the stomach or its transmuted legs and the boy is covered in blinding red, laughing psychotically while doing so. Elliot lets out a horrified cry at the boy's violent demeanor and reaches his hands out for him, sword out and the Vessalius' name furiously screamed off his parting lips.

A pair of hands that Elliot thought so small and delicate suddenly snatches his shoulders in a grip of vice before roughly pulling him down to Oz's eye level. His green irises up seeing more closely now look outrageously bigger and much more full of crazed euphoria. Oz grins sweetly at the blue-eyes boy and the latter finally manages to find the courage to move his mouth into forming words, though not saying everything on his stunned mind right now.

Instead, he blurts out a dazed, "O-Oz?! Wh-wha…why are you…?" said boy chuckles lightly and brings Elliot's face closer to his, something obscure glinting in those verdant orbs of his.

"Look at me, Elliot." He murmurs in a low, dangerous whisper that sends Elliot's heart racing in such speed it's practically begging to squeeze out of his chest. Oz continues, his breath hot on his skin. "I finally found a way to make all my fears go away." The smaller leans closer to the older boy and those eyes are almost swallowing Elliot in dazed green and he can feel Oz's rapid pants against the crook of his neck, see his delirious happiness and nearly hear his heartbeats, so close is he to the blond. Despite his strong will, Elliot remains rooted on the dirt, unable to move and the fearful exhilaration emanating in tidal waves from Oz and radiating on Elliot on a deluge. Whatever fake emotion Elliot sensed earlier, it is undeniably coming from Oz.

"You have to destroy them." Oz whispers huskily at his ear, low yet sugary.

And it's infecting him.

"No, wait, stop… _Oz!_" his calls fall to deaf ears as in a wild whirl, the little blond spins around himself while bringing his scythe in the brutal motion of jutting the forged metal across the malformed abyssal human, a deep wound opening with crimson spluttering out. Oz bursts out laughing in a fit of insane giggles and dark shivers run up and down Elliot's back, whether from longing or dread, he can't tell.

"How can you think that…!" he stammers in a slightly quivering voice but he is cut in the middle of his rapidly fury-mounting question by disturbing squelching sounds from Oz's kneeling form, small hands etching from the behemoth's cadaver.

"What could be inside of them to make me so afraid?" he asks in the most curious air, like a child discovering a whole new world before him. "I want to know what's inside…" that halts Elliot in the middle of his words, turns him into stone when he watches the younger dive his hands into the bleeding gash, tearing it more open and even wider with his fingers.

The second he hears the repulsing noise of squirming organs being manipulated by what he always assumed were untainted, spoiled, pure hands, he is catapulted back to reality as bloody liquid stains his face and pulls him out of his veiled terror. He launches himself toward Oz and as he does, he unwarily strains his ears just to see if the blond noticed his quickly approaching presence. Apparently, not.

"Will you stop this madness already?!" he yells viciously at the younger, strong slender arms sliding around Oz's waist and fingers tightly grabbing his crisp white shirt beneath the cloak when Elliot grasps the smaller boy, attempting to yank him away from the twisted corpse in front of them, trying to pull Oz away from gripping all its inner organs. "You're bloody insane, goddamn it!"

Unfortunately, the Vessalius is abnormally strong too, his pale fingers soaked with deep red tightly clutching onto the inward flesh of the monster, demented smile widening at Elliot's arrival. Without warning, he leaps over the twisted corpse and Elliot, not registering what is happening, follows suit, hands still surrounded around Oz's slim waist. Before mentioned boy jams his fingers in one of the numerous eyeballs the thing possesses and hooks it upward, as Elliot lands in a tangle of limbs over Oz's back who laughs in response and yanks the eye out, a squelch and a pop following the action.

An arm ropes itself around the Nightray and he suddenly found himself with his back pressed against the abomination leaking blood against his already soaked cloak, two legs straddling him and a wet hand holding his wrists over his head in a vice grip, pinning him against the rubbles and the dead body. Another hand gently traces his cheek, almost affectionately and Elliot can't suppress the cold quivers racing through his body, nor can he stop the soft hues of flushed red coloring his face.

"See Elliot…" Oz's voice is a soft croon, said in a daze only he can understand and with a tender smile dancing on his lips, he practically cradles the torn eye in his free palm, a pinkish nerve trailing after it. "The color of the eye is _so_ pretty! They say the eyes are the window to the soul, you know." Blabber all he wants, Elliot tries to struggle his way out of the Vessalius' clutches, in vain. With fright and horror pounding against his ribcage like the beating wings of a hummingbird, he starts to slowly realize he can't get out of this situation, that he is trapped. That nobody is coming to save him.

"Why are doing this? What's taking you, already?!" Elliot prays with ardent fervor that his voice doesn't sound like deep down at the very essence of his soul, he is absolutely terrified. "What's wrong with you, Oz?" he adds those words more quietly, even if umbrage and anger are boiling just below.

The latter eventually brings his attention off the bloody eye and directs it to the Nightray, said boy abruptly coming to the conclusion that the smaller blond, with blood coating his golden hair, face and clothing, with his eyes glowing so blazingly and rain drizzling fiercely against him, soaking him to the brim, suddenly appears like a fallen angel descended from the heavens. An angel transcending the darkening firmament to raise hell on earth. Elliot has to remind himself that men do not row boats into a swan's territory. As beautiful as they are, they are also dangerous.

"I'm not afraid anymore." Oz replies in a gentle undertone, his hand letting go of the eyeball to let it roll next Elliot's head, who squirms as best as he can to distance himself from it. Oz leans in closer to the older boy, his eyes half-lidded and slowly filling themselves with a dark, hungering light. "I don't see anything wrong with not being scared any longer. It's a burden for us, after all."

The jade-eyed boy stares at Elliot's piercing sapphire eyes, as though trying to unlock the mystery behind some uncanny enigma. The Nightray shuffles uncomfortably under the boy's suddenly piercing stare, sensing as if green rays are shot right through his eyes and into the core of his being. Oz lowers his face a bit closer to Elliot's and the latter can't help his gaze escaping those staring above him to skim across the short blond's features, not able to let go of the sight of those enticing lips just close enough for him to capture them in his own. The worst is that he knows how delicate the situation is at the present moment, how dangerous Oz is in this very instant. That makes it all the more mesmerizing and the adrenaline scorching his veins are suddenly burning at higher degrees when his terror is sinking his body temperature to the lowest.

"I can do what I want, if there is no fear weighing on me." For one deliriously delightful moment, Elliot actually thought Oz was going to kiss him, his burning breath engulfed with the fragrance of rainwater and some lovely flower grazing across his mouth before going at his throat as Oz nuzzles his face at the curve of his neck, soft pants rising Elliot's heartbeats at the speed of sound.

For an untimely moment that Elliot doesn't care or want to count, too tired to do so, he lies on the ground quietly, for once keeping that loud-mouth of his shut. Motionless he is, unmoving Oz is, the latter on top of the former, pressed against Elliot like a lover would, the smaller curled up in a ball on him, as if a kitten. A kitten drenched in blood, pinning its master against a layer of dead flesh that its claws had dug into eagerly earlier and torn apart whatever living limb had been left astray in that heap of putrid, flask atrocity.

"I can even," Oz suddenly starts with a lift of his head, his eyes gradually glazing over as he gazes at him with what could only be morbid wonder. "do this." Elliot stops whatever question and comment he was about to inquire when the gentle pressure of the softest and warmest lips press themselves against his mouth, shutting him out efficiently and filling his closing eyes with dark lust.

Icy fire bursts all around, running in waves within him and turning his blood into blazing hot-white flames. Despite the fright shredding his mind from whatever ethereal power Oz detains, he lets his lips move against the younger's as he ardently responds to the boy's kiss, unable to resist much anymore against Oz's madness. Holding on to his sanity is now incredibly hard, with Oz cuddled against him like this, with his teeth nibbling Elliot's lips, it's making him all too terribly dizzy.

"O-Oz… stop it…" he groans sluggishly against the boy's mouth, unable to form coherent forms to beg release from this insanity threatening to immerse him completely in its murky waters, drowning his protests in madness and delirium.

"No." is the simple answer he receives and at the same moment a dark chuckle erupts from the short blond, sending dread coursing through him. Although everything completely goes out of his mind when he feels something wet gently slip into his mouth, coming straight from Oz. After that, he can only moan at that.

A chuckle not his own ghosts out of his throat and out of the blue and strength, his hands are free and flying to Oz's golden hair, fingers drawn to their messy soft strands. He grabs a fistful of them and brutally yanks the small Vessalius' face closer to his, groaning while doing so.

Another sound incredibly similar to laughter bubbles out of his throat and the nails of his fingers dig harder in the hair of the boy who is currently dominating him in every ways of the word, physically and psychologically, almost painfully. The image of the world around Elliot doesn't seem to him so much frightening anymore, the terror soon being overwhelmed by something, drowning in it before dissipating into nothingness. The sorely freezing sensation previously plaguing the silver-headed's chest is gradually being subsided by a new kind of feeling, one that is quickly climbing higher and higher the scales of Elliot's body heat.

A burning sensation that is close to the grotesque fire of madness and lustful desires.

How can Oz Vessalius, nemesis of the Nightray family and the boy with more hidden depths within himself than the seven seas, actually make someone like Elliot Nightray feel like the whole of the world's throne is at hand, like he is at the frontier between the border of the universe and pure void? How could a boy like Oz Vessalius make him feel as though there are no line between sanity and insanity, between lucidness and psychosis?

He doesn't know and couldn't care less about it.

All he knows is that at the present moment he is letting Oz ground him against the sharp edges of the remnants of Sablier, that he is allowing the blond to pin him violently against the gruesome mangle of bloody flesh torn open with long, ruby red organs peeking themselves out against his back. That Elliot, youngest heir of the Nightray is permitting Oz Vessalius to hungrily kiss him with feverish want and that his own tongue is answering back with that same passionate heat. That he wants to laugh crazily at nothing but air and take every living life away just to watch those pretty, pretty souls slip away from the hideously murdered corpses that his mind conjures the pictures off.

He pushes the younger golden-haired boy off him and without warning; Elliot is the one pushing his whole body against Oz, the one ardently mashing his lips to the boy under him, the one pounding the crazed scythe wielder against the cadaver the latter formerly killed. He adores the way his unusually sharp canines are tenderly biting into Oz's lower lip, the way the smaller's soft whines and innocent giggles spikes up his own madness and makes him to tear to shreds everything and anything that can move around them, paint all that is crumbling into insanity and chaos in velvety red. The entirety of it all except the mad angelic reaper trapped under him.

The color red suddenly seem so, so, _so_ much more beautiful to Elliot and the pool of crimson surging around both crazed aristocrats appears like the vision of a red carpet, greeting them in the icy pits of Perdition itself. They are soaked with water, the dirt has turned to slippery mud tainted with ruby and he doesn't care about any of it. His lips graze across Oz's along with his cold breath when Elliot very slowly pulls away from their kiss, earning himself gentle moaning mewls from the manic angel beneath him.

"I want to dye everything in red." He tells Oz in a ravenous undertone, mouth not quite touching the Vessalius' ear. Another innocent fit of quiet twitters from the younger and Elliot's fingers manage to find their way under Oz's white blouse, little by little and sinfully skimming in feather touches the boy's soft skin, tingling sensations igniting him on fire from the inside. It turns all of his reason to snowy black ashes, shades in inky black whatever radiant sanity is left of him, leaving Elliot in a laughing mess, the inhuman cackles of a madman echoing and ringing and screaming to and fro off of him.

"Why haven't you told me that all of it feels so thrilling? Why didn't you do the same for me before?" Elliot asks in a tone that could compare to poison ivy, a wicked smirk creeping on his lips. "Don't you trust me, Shorty?" as if to prove his point, he lowers his face at the hollow of Oz's neck and lets his teeth lazily sink into untainted skin, receiving almost inaudible pleased cries as a response along with the slight tickles from wet, sunny blond hair. He nestles his face further and presses his mouth in languorous kisses all over his angel's neck, enjoying the moans he hears from it and how Oz twists and turns against him. He adds more when he lets his tongue waywardly lick the dry blood away on his throat, tasting water and copper and feeling Oz's legs warp themselves around his waist in a futile attempt to bring him closer for more.

"I do trust you." Elliot hears more than feels the unhurried slices cutting across his cheeks, neck and rest of his body when the teenager below him lets the hands earlier gripping the Nightray's back twirl the scythe materialized out of nowhere. "It's just more fun this way." Elliot finds himself playing too with the scabbard of his sword, fingers etching to grasp the gracefully carved hilt and stab someone. "And I just did it to you."

He doesn't have long to wait for his desires to be fulfilled. "More fun, you say?" he purrs in a sickening sweet voice uncommon to him, mouth gliding over Oz's face, hands sensing the tremors his touch causes to the teen. He leers when beneath that pleasant feeling; another withering sensation wavers out below his little Oz. A second later, a long black sword finds its path to be piercing another eyeball off the orbit of the squirming atrocity under both madly grinning boys. Elliot pushes the sword's blade deeper and a spurt of red fluid smears his face, although he doesn't mind one bit of it and actually relishes the sensation. "Can you give me more?" he asks naively, though ill-intentionally so. His fingers tug at the hem of Oz's shirt, azure eyes glazed all over by lust.

"With pleasure." Oz yields to his wants and Elliot lets himself succumb to his rapacious cravings, prowling need pouncing on him along with the sensual temptation of madness, lulling his deranged mind to sleep.

"You know," the Vessalius says in a voice barely above a whisper, managing these words through a delirious tangle of blazing icy fire, blood, torn clothes and moans. "you are my heavenly fire, devil." Elliot lets a low chuckle pass his groaning mouth. Too much fire, so much cold he can't think straight. He's seeing stars, dying stars.

"Stop talking and kiss me, angel."

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**Confused? I'll make a quick sum for you: so what if Leo lost himself in the bizarre maze of memories at Sablier and left Elliot alone? What if Oz went so mad of fear that his powers as B-Rabbit acted like a virus of insanity and infected everybody around him? What if Elliot just so hppen to pass the area nearby Oz. You know what happens next. **

**So, what did you guys think of this one-shot? There aren't many ElliOz fanfics out there and I don't mind in the least to add some, a real creepy one at that. I won't even deny how much pleasure I took at writing this up! Though, I also want to know your opinion on this one and even if you don't like it, I'm still thanking you all for even reading this fic!**

**Until next story, I bid you all farewell! :DD**


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